Zally's Book Read online

  All of a sudden a herd of translucent golden horses appeared around us.

  “The horses of Kib Valley!” Imishi gasped. “Their spirits are helping us save the jaguar.”

  Kir whinnied a surprised greeting to his ancestors, who responded in a ghostly, musical echo. Then a shimmer surged out from them into Kir and Imishi, growing brighter until the whole group radiated a dazzling golden light. A feeling of elation flowed from all of them into me as well.

  Imishi lifted one end of the heavy bamboo. At the other end, Kir took powerful steps, pulling the stalk forward with his harness. Surrounded by the brilliant spirits, we headed up the grassy slope toward the observatory.

  Picking up a short length of branch from the ground, I ran ahead to the pit and broke out the rest of the clay surface inside the stone circle. When Kir arrived, dragging the bamboo all the way to the edge of the pit, I was ready. Strengthened by the horse spirits, Imishi and Kir positioned the stalk so that the largest portion of it rested on the stone rim of the pit. Then I untied the fairy-silk rope from the bamboo and released Kir from his harness. Dipping their heads, the glowing herd of horses backed away from the stone circle but did not leave us.

  I looked down into the pit, still radiating calmness and friendship toward the jaguar. In my mind I created an image of the jaguar moving to the edge of the pit nearest me. Her thoughts came back to me, trusting, reassured … and wild. She did as I asked.

  When Imishi, Kir, and I lined up on the same side of the bamboo and started to push, rolling it in the direction of the pit, I felt a brief moment of hesitation—we were about to release a dangerous creature. I quickly dismissed the thought. This was the right thing to do.

  We rolled the stalk a couple of feet before one end went over the edge, tilted, and slid down into the hole, taking the rest of the bamboo with it. I glanced down inside to see that the bottom end of the bamboo had landed firmly at one edge of the pit. The top was wedged against the other side, just below the top edge of the pit where I stood. Knowing that the jaguar could take it from there, Imishi, Kir, and I stepped back into the herd of spirit horses.

  “Thank you, cousins,” Imishi said while Kir whinnied his gratitude and I bowed.

  Together, the spirit herd reared in a joyful salute and then galloped away.

  Imishi and I mounted Kir, and we headed back to our proper path through the jungle. Spirits of animals flickered all around us.

  Just before we entered the dense foliage again, something approached from behind in a flurry. Startled, I turned to see that the parrot had landed behind Imishi on the fairy-silk blanket between the saddlebags.

  “Here we are, here we are!”

  I smiled. He was a bit of a pest, but the bird seemed to have become attached to us. I saw no harm in his coming along on our journey, since I didn’t seem to have a choice.

  From the corner of my eye, I saw the jaguar emerge from the pit, up on the foundation outside the observatory. The glowing gaze searched—and found me.

  Imishi saw where I was looking and said, “Let’s go, before it comes after us.”

  I sighed, knowing she still didn’t understand why I had released the jaguar. “Just because something is dangerous doesn’t mean it’s not an innocent,” I pointed out. “And helping innocents is part of my quest.”

  Imishi didn’t look at me. “That is not my quest,” she said quietly.

  I turned and faced forward again. As we rode back into the jungle, I knew I had done the right thing. And every so often, I could still feel a whisper of the wild jaguar mind.

  • • •

  As it turned out, the rest of the way through the jungle was not as overgrown as the inward path had been. We crossed a brook, and at one point Kir made a brief detour to avoid a long, fat snake hanging in front of us from a tree.

  A few minutes later, a trio of spider monkeys dropped fruit from a branch above us and screeched with laughter when one of the fruits hit my head. It didn’t hurt, but the monkeys were annoying. When they threw the next projectile, I was ready—and caught it in midair. Imishi took the fruit, cut it up with her shell knife, handed me a wedge, and gave a small chunk to the parrot behind her.

  I took several bites, gave the monkeys a mock bow, said, “Thank you!” and sent them a vague idea that it was impolite to throw fruit. I’m not sure what they made of the thoughts I sent—but they did stop dropping things on us and simply swung through the trees above our heads from then on.

  After that, I kept getting the feeling that someone or something was watching us from behind. I shook myself, trying to get the thought out of my head.

  Behind me, Imishi said, “Ow. Ow—OW!”

  I turned instantly, afraid some animal had chomped her arm as we’d ridden by. It was just the parrot perched atop the fairy’s head.

  “He walked up my back with his talons!” she exclaimed.

  I made sure to hold my smile until I was faced forward again.

  Equally unconcerned, Kir continued onward.

  “Safe now!” the bird squawked merrily.

  I turned to give the parrot a stern look. He bobbed slightly but easily kept his balance, since he was grasping one of Imishi’s hair vines with both claws. “Listen, bird,” I said, “uh … I’m going to call you Monty from now on, okay? Anyway, Monty, you can’t just walk all over people and hurt them. If you want to stay with us, you need to become part of our team and not cause problems, understand?”

  He bobbed his head.

  I sent him as clear a picture as I could of him moving to Imishi’s shoulder and sitting still. “And don’t dig your claws into her,” I added. As I said it, Monty hopped onto Imishi’s shoulder. Talking to animals was awesome; I hoped with all my heart that it was a skill that wouldn’t go away when I woke up at home.

  We continued in contented silence until we left the jungle entirely. Waving good-bye to the spider monkeys, Imishi said, “Do you know where we are, or should we stop so you can map some more?”

  I tried to feel the pull of which direction to go next. I couldn’t, so we took a short rest to give me time to sketch a couple more areas on the map. Because it had fascinated me and seemed good for the general purpose of mapping Aventurine, I quickly drew the area of Ool-Kib I had seen on the observatory wall. After that, I let my eyes unfocus and my mind drift. It didn’t take long to lose myself in a sketching trance, my hand just going by itself. When I finished and looked up, the sun was still high overhead.

  “Done already?” Imishi asked.

  I smiled and ran my finger across the map to show her where we were going. “Yes, I think this is all of it.” I pointed to a hill and said, “Kib Valley should be just beyond this. It shouldn’t take us more than a day.”

  Imishi’s face lit up at that. Monty hopped onto my shoulder, eyed my drawing, and tapped his beak on a spot right next to my picture of the jungle. “We’re here, we’re here!”

  “Be careful with that!” I said, shooing him away, rolling up the map, and putting it back into my bag.

  We set off again in the direction of the hill. The ground became hard and uneven, strewn with sharp black rocks, some of which came up to Kir’s withers. Kir had to step carefully to avoid being cut by them. It occurred to me as the ground began to slope upward that a topographical map would be useful, too. I wondered if there was a way to make the map display in three dimensions.

  The parrot took wing, flying ahead, then circling back. When he landed on Imishi’s shoulder again, she had a sad look on her face, as if she was reminded of her inability to fly.

  “Up we go, up we go!” Monty squawked.

  Sure enough, the ground got steeper. I groaned, knowing where I had seen pictures of this type of terrain before: in my atlases, in the sections about Central America and the South Pacific. This was volcanic terrain, which meant that the little hill I had drawn on the map was most likely a volcano—a volcano we had to go past, or even over.

  “I hope this isn’t what I think it is,” I mut
tered to myself.

  We took another quick rest. Monty hopped onto a rock and stood, shifting from foot to foot again. He whistled and squawked happily. All of a sudden, a squawk turned into a screech. I looked over to see a green and brown lizard scurrying away, its mouth full of parrot feathers. The reptile must have been over three feet long! Had it been trying to eat Monty and gotten scared away?

  Monty launched into the air, but his balance had been thrown off (from lack of tail feathers, maybe), and he didn’t get far. He fluttered downward and tried to land on Kir’s back but only managed to grasp the fairy-silk blanket with one claw. He dangled upside down, flopping and screeching.

  I jumped to my feet to help, stifling a laugh.

  Imishi got there first. I said soothing things to Monty, reinforcing the words with my thoughts, while Imishi untangled his foot from the blanket, turned him upright again, and gently set him on her shoulder once more. He shook himself and looked at both of us through slitted eyes.

  “He’s going to pretend it didn’t happen,” I whispered to Imishi, and she laughed. Kir snorted in a laughing way as well, and Monty turned around on Imishi’s shoulder and didn’t look at us. This of course only made us all laugh more. Laughing felt great. We got going again, feeling happy.

  I figured we could make it as far as the hill by nightfall. After a few hours, I asked Kir if he could find us a spot like the one where we had spent the previous night, with protection and plenty of water, so we could get a good night’s sleep before we made our approach to Kib Valley. He found a place where the rock was smoother and dipped downward for fifty yards or so, leading to a cave in the rock wall. Beside this, water trickled through a groove in the wall like a miniature waterfall, forming a shallow pool no wider than my outstretched arms.

  We headed down to the cave, Kir setting his hooves carefully to avoid slipping on the smoother rock. I had a sudden fiercely protective feeling—blurred at the edges—and realized the feeling wasn’t coming from me. Before we could get to the shelter, a bizarre creature landed in front of us. I had never seen anything like it, except in a carving.

  It was a giant snake, bigger around than Kir and about five times as long—a snake with feathers.

  8

  The Thief

  “Who dares to steal from the fearsome and mighty Kukulkan?” the voice of the serpent boomed. The velvety sound poured through the air around us like liquid thunder.

  The serpent’s body was covered with scales in shades of silver and metallic charcoal. There were three separate feathery wreaths along its coils in a rainbow of colors. When the creature raised half of its body into the air to glower down at us, the wreaths of feathers split and formed three pairs of wings. The serpent breathed down on us with a hiss.

  Imishi sat straight and still behind me. I could tell Kir badly wanted to retreat but held his ground out of loyalty to us. But here’s an incredible thing. After falling into a swamp, being attacked by clouds of insects, worrying about dying innocents, and being stalked by a jaguar, I wasn’t afraid. I wasn’t surprised that “the fearsome and mighty Kukulkan” could talk, either.

  It sounds crazy, but what I felt most at that instant was fascinated. I cleared my throat and said, “We are honored to meet you, Kukulkan. We are friends of Queen Carmina, on our way to Kib Valley. May we rest here?”

  The serpent moved its head back and forth, its feathery wings rippling. “Thieves are not friends. Thieves do not rest.”

  “Not thieves, not thieves!” Monty croaked weakly.

  I could not imagine what the feathered serpent thought we had stolen. We hadn’t even had any water yet. Other than that, I could see nothing in any direction that one of us might want, much less try to take.

  “Thieves!” the serpent repeated. “You stole my only!”

  Searching my mind for a way to answer, I felt a rush of emotions from the serpent: sorrow, protectiveness, and outrage.

  “Not thieves. We are friends,” I said, with as much confidence as I could muster while looking at a forty-foot-long dragony creature. “If we help you find what was stolen, will you let us sleep here?”

  The serpent sighed, blowing a gust of hot air on us. “You will help me find my very own Egg?”

  “Your egg is lost?” I asked.

  The serpent hissed, “Yessss.”

  “Of course we will help you!” Imishi said stoutly.

  Kir whinnied enthusiastically, and Monty bobbed up and down, squawking, “Find the egg, find the egg!”

  I wasn’t sure what to do. We had just reached the base of a volcano that was probably riddled with crevices and caves—plenty of places that a thief could hide an egg, if the thief hadn’t taken the egg somewhere else entirely or eaten it.

  “What happened?” I asked Kukulkan. “How long has the egg been missing?”

  The serpent mother sorrowfully shook her head. “I went to sleep here. In the morning, Egg was gone.”

  “Do any of you have ideas?” I asked, turning to the others.

  “Find the egg!” Monty repeated helpfully.

  Kir gave a gentle snort and sent an image of the night sky, reminding me that it would soon be dark.

  Hesitating, Imishi said, “Could you—could you draw a map, perhaps?”

  I stared at her in surprise. It was certainly worth a try. I pulled the roll of map paper out of my bag, along with my quill pen. I calmly explained to Kukulkan what I was trying to do.

  I thought that if I could touch the feathered serpent while working, I might feel some connection with the egg that would help. The serpent gradually lowered herself until she was lying flat on the ground. I sat by her on the rock floor, spread out a fresh map page, and leaned back against her. Her skin was smooth and muscley, not at all slippery. I opened my thoughts to hers and let her worry touch me. The quill, still loaded with cacao ink, seemed to spring to life in my hand. I was soon sketching.

  When my map was finished, I stared at it. It showed a glowing orange hole halfway up the volcano where the egg was now. Kir carried Imishi and me while I directed, Monty rode on Imishi’s shoulder, and Kukulkan—her wings beating as fast as a hummingbird’s—hovered along beside us. Kir made good speed up the rock slope despite the waning light. Before darkness fell completely, however, Kukulkan drew a deep breath, held it for a moment, then exhaled a ball of green fire that hovered in midair and followed us to light our way.

  Half an hour later, we reached the cave to which my map led us. Unfortunately, its mouth was only a few feet high, too small to allow the feathered serpent or Kir inside. So Imishi and I agreed to search if we could take the green fire with us. Kukulkan gladly sent it through the opening ahead of us. We ducked and followed it into the cave. Monty stayed on the fairy girl’s shoulder.

  The green light lifted itself toward the high cavern ceiling. Before long, Monty began squawking and screaming one word over and over: “Thief, thief!” Hopping down, he scrabbled along the cave floor.

  Exchanging surprised glances, Imishi and I hurried after him. When we caught up with Monty, he was perched on a short stalagmite above a scooped-out area in the cave floor that formed a sort of nest—complete with one copper-shelled egg the size of a football. I leaned down to pick it up.

  A deep voice reverberated in the cavern. “Who dares to disturb the fearsome and mighty Kukulkan?”

  Imishi and I gaped at each other in shock. Could it be true? Could there really be another Kukulkan?

  “Thief, thief!” Monty squawked again, then zoomed to dive-bomb something on the floor of the cavern. The green ball of fire moved to shed its light on the area.

  “No, you shall not look upon me!” the voice boomed. “All who challenge the glorious Kukulkan are doomed! Flee for your lives!” The voice became more frantic.

  We looked at the ceiling and walls, behind rocks, trying to find where the voice was coming from. Monty squawked and swooped at the thing on the floor again. The grand voice boomed once more, “Flee! Fl—” but this time it cut off
in a strangled yelp, accompanied by a thundering Squawwwk!

  “Monty?!” Imishi cried.

  Monty’s squawk had exploded through the walls at the same moment that he had swooped, and something had made his voice sound louder. I went closer to see what he had found. Monty’s claws were firmly wrapped around the tail of a plump lizard a few feet long. I couldn’t tell what kind of lizard, because its head was hidden in a hole in the cavern wall.

  The green ball of light hovered closer to show us more. The neck and shoulders of the lizard sprouted a variety of mismatched feathers that seemed to be stuck on with gooey sap. Several of the emerald green feathers were a perfect match to Monty’s stolen tail feathers. Without needing to be asked, Imishi grasped the tail and helped Monty pull while I took the shoulders and legs to extract the lizard’s head from the hole in the wall. We succeeded almost immediately, and I blocked the hole with the toe of my boot so the lizard could not stick its head back in. A boom echoed through the chamber.

  The lizard, which looked like an oversized iguana, except for its shiny green-brown skin and the feathers glued to it, reared back and said, “Beware the wrath of the powerful Kukulkan. Flee, flee!” But the voice was tiny, high, and almost funny.

  My brothers and I used to watch The Wizard of Oz together every Thanksgiving, and this situation reminded me of the scene where Toto pulls aside the curtain on the man pretending to be the wizard. I ducked my head down by the hole in the wall, said, “Who?” and covered it again with my boot. My voice instantly blasted through the cavern with a resounding “Whooooo!”

  The lizard struggled and thrashed, trying to get away. “I must protect my egg.”

  “You!” Imishi exclaimed. “You stole Kukulkan’s egg? You are nothing more than a common huchu lizard.”

  “You do not understand; I am Kukulkan,” the lizard objected.

  “Thief, thief!” Monty repeated with conviction.